


War Crimes

by Kanja



Series: User-Friendly [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Rough Sex, powerbottom keith, shades of klance, shameless pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 08:01:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14468382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanja/pseuds/Kanja
Summary: Shiro has changed. Keith and Lance cannot agree on whether it's for the best, but Keith cannot deny that it's awakened a particular hunger in him. Takes place after the events of S1:E9.





	War Crimes

**Author's Note:**

> To quote my best friend:
> 
> "This is a war crime."
> 
> "Oh my GOD this is a WAR CRIME."
> 
> "WHY IS NO ONE MENTIONING THAT THIS IS A WAR CRIME."
> 
> This one's for you, doll.

"Title eighteen, code two-four-four-one."  
  
"If you think I'm not replaying our Ethics 101 course over and over in my head..." Keith said with a sigh, giving up on the navigation report he was trying to decipher. For all that Pidge went on about user-friendly this and accessibility that, she sure did not have any hang-ups when it came to making her reports needlessly technical.  
  
Lance was uncharacteristically quiet, paused with his back turned to Keith and his face turned toward the stars. If Keith did not look very carefully at the subtle motions of his shoulders, he could almost believe that Lance was a glitch in time and space, destined to be frozen in soundless disapproval for all time.

 

For awhile, it was a stalemate, Keith sat in his chair, teeth bared, and Lance lost in the memory of what had transpired that day, chilled to the bone and too terrified to move. This was the first time that it had occurred to him that he really did not know Shiro or Keith, not like he knew and implicitly trusted all the others. For all he knew—

 

_For all he knew…_

 

“You know him better than anyone,” Lance relented with a sigh. “You two… I mean, you'd know if something was going on with him, right?”

 

Lance stepped back on his heel to turn around and heard the rapidfire click of boots on Altean steel far too late. He was already off balance by the time Keith hit him, full force, more ramming power than even Hunk was capable of. There was no sound when his back hit the starshield, but all the air shot out of his lungs in a wheeze and he was left with no way to reclaim it, unable to catch his breath when Keith's stormy eyes were so close and so far gone.

 

“ _Watch your mouth_ ,” Keith snarled. There was nothing human in his tone, no sign of the Keith that Lance had worked a laugh out of on two separate occasions, not a hint left of that familiar, fiery presence he felt in his mind when they were all one. This was darkness, pure will to commit violence by any means necessary. “I won't sit here and listen while you question him. Don't you stand here and tell _me_ that he's not okay—”

 

“Keith!” Lance yelped. “Keith! I didn't say that!”

 

It was a miracle that Lance dodged the fist that came screaming through the air. He didn't believe it himself until he heard the wobble of space as Keith's knuckles struck the shield, with him bent and panicked beneath, feeling like he'd pressed his luck too far to move again.

 

“I didn't say he's not okay!” Lance kept on, sounding every bit like he was pleading for his life. Something must have clicked, because there was a hitch in Keith's stance now, a tiny waver that was only obvious to someone who had spent so much time studying him.

 

And that someone was Lance, who had always wondered where he got his tireless drive from. The answer was clear as anything now, which sucked because that was not the question anymore.

 

“You…” _Said that_ was what Lance meant to say, but there was too much there to unpack and Keith didn't seem particularly interested in words anymore. That was fine, Lance had more than that in his arsenal. Knowing full well that he risked a broken face, Lance opened his arms wide and rushed forward.

 

It was almost comical how unprepared Keith was for Lance to turn around and crush him in his embrace. He felt Keith twitching against his skin, physically short-circuiting as he tried to process the one-two punch of touch and a reaction that he did not foresee.

 

“It's okay,” Lance said, his arms tightening. Keith still hadn't moved or said a word or bashed his skull in, which wasn't a win, but wasn't a loss either. “We're gonna be okay.”

 

“This is a war,” Keith said, muffled and mournful. “We don't get to make the rules anymore.”

 

“Maybe not for other people,” Lance said, cringing as Keith moved against him. The tension in his shoulders was an unbearable agony, but then he felt Keith's hand slide over his back, clasping Lance like he was the last lifeboat circling a sunken ship.

 

“Whatever he does,” Keith murmured, “I already made up my mind. I follow where he leads. I trust him.”

 

Something added, in the very same voice, _I'm not okay when I'm without him_ , but Lance did not feel the soft rumble of Keith's voice and knew that it had not been spoken aloud. And he had to respect that, because respect was all they really had anymore.

 

“Man,” Lance said, sighing, smiling, and hating how blurry his sight had become. “You think I don't get it? Love makes you do crazy things. Crazy… war-crime-type things sometimes, but…”

 

Keith was stirring again. Lance spoke quickly to keep him down.

 

“... you saved me out there. From that airlock, you put your life on the line to save my neck. You could've let me fall, but you didn't,” Lance explained, “so I have a feeling that everything is going to be okay.”

 

“We can't form Voltron without you,” Keith said. Not in a reassuring way, or in the sort of tone where he meant well but did not realize how it would come across. It was just cold, hard facts. It was Keith wondering why this was relevant, why Lance was deluding himself.

 

The answer? Because he had to.

 

“I have a feeling,” Lance repeated, drawing away just so he could clasp Keith's fist in his hand. “You and I? We're gonna have the kind of epic brotherhood they write stories about. Stories with awesome movie options.”

 

Keith's brow quirked, but he got it—eventually.

 

“Sorry about the…” He gestured with his free hand, and though Lance was shrinking inside, he was great at smiling through things like this.

 

“All a part of the unbreakable bond of the brotherhood,” Lance said, giving Keith a good, sobering whap on the back.

 

“Right.” Keith peered into his eyes like he was decoding some mystifying script, but found a far better answer in their joined hands. “Thanks.”

 

Lance wasn't sure what for, but he was happy to take credit. “Anytime, man.”

 

Keith walked backwards for a step and a half, looking like there was something else to say. But Lance knew Keith enough to know the words died there, that tonight had been an exercise in pushing it already, so he just stood by with a grin and a wave and waited for him to disappear.

 

Besides, he was sure he'd hear it all from his room later.

 

* * *

 

 

“Shiro…?”

 

It felt weird to knock, so Keith didn't. That would have been too much like giving into his fears, letting his paranoia run his life when he was dead-set on dismissing it entirely. Hard to do when he walked in and found Shiro doubled over next to his bed, not on it, curled up and broken on the floor with his head tucked against his biological arm.

 

Shiro inhaled sharply and lifted his head, his eyes taking a moment to blink and focus.

 

“I can leave,” Keith told him.

 

“Maybe that would be for the best,” Shiro said, watching his metal hand clench into a fist.

 

“I can, but I'm not going to.”

 

Keith sat beside him and watched the subtle movements of his arm. Shiro was still not used to the prosthetic and it was telling. Even when Shiro did remember how to use it to devastate their enemies, it always came with a price, taking a little bit more of Shiro away with it.

 

Keith wondered how much was left. Not much, physically. The hair was one thing, but his skin was starsilver pallid, not warm like it used to be. His eyes were sharper now, more profound. All the softness was gone from his form, like the rest of him had been replaced with metal too, plates and circuitry lurking under his flesh. It was hard to recognize him anymore. Tonight, it had been almost impossible.

 

“I don't know what came over me,” he said after a long, long silence. “This isn't me.”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“Stealing Sendak’s memories,” Shiro said. “It wasn't right. I jeopardized the whole team. I probably lost their respect.”

 

“Oh.” Good old 2441 again. “Lance was the only one who said anything, and I set him straight.”

 

Keith was suddenly aware of Shiro's eyes boring into him. And he knew, but he didn't want to deal with it.

 

“What did you do, Keith?” he demanded.

 

“What I had to,” Keith replied. “You're right. This is a war.”

 

“He's a part of our _team_ —”

 

“He shouldn't be **questioning you** ,” Keith growled. “When the time comes and hard decisions have to be made, we can't afford subordinates who don't have faith in their leader.”

 

“If he's questioning me, that's a failure of _my_ ability to lead. It's not on him.”

 

Keith snarled as he was grabbed by his arms.

 

“You sound like them,” Shiro said. “That's how _he_ leads, using fear as a weapon to keep his men in line. If we go there, Keith, then what are we even fighting for?”

 

“I didn't put him in that fucking tank,” Keith snapped. It worked to get Shiro off of him, dropping him like a marionette with its strings cut.

 

“I know. I'm sorry,” Shiro said quietly.

 

“Stop saying that.” Keith picked up his metal arm, laying it aside. He planted both hands on Shiro's shoulders, which were strong enough to bear his weight as he climbed on to Shiro's lap and growled, “Stop talking.”

 

“Keith…” Shiro murmured, but he closed his eyes like he used to when Keith would nuzzle close in those early hours. Whether he knew it or not, Keith never did, preferring to watch his lover's face when they were close, when they kissed, when Keith turned the back of his nails against the sharp grain of Shiro's jaw and stroked up and down.

 

“You do what you have to do,” Keith murmured, like a prayer, like a challenge. “Whatever happened out there, you learned to stop thinking and _move_.”

 

“Keith,” Shiro hissed. It was a warning this time. Keith couldn't tell which hand was cradling his back; they were both so strong, so solid.

 

“ **C'mon** ,” Keith snarled. Shiro's arm was not the only part of him hard as steel and unyielding, and Keith reminded him by relentlessly grinding down on his lap, until Shiro gritted his teeth and dug in his fingers and couldn't fight it anymore.

 

“I don't want to hurt you,” Shiro said, and Keith's answer was to strip off his jacket and his shirt and throw them far away. His voice hiccuped in his throat as he moved in heaving, jerking thrusts, as Shiro's hands tore at him and grasped at him and pulled his legs apart. He thrust a steel thumb into Keith's mouth and rubbed his nipples raw with the other, a cold and impassive presence nailing down his tongue when it hurt so bad he had to bite down hard to keep from whining. The noises died in his throat, choked and wild, useless to stop the blood from flowing.

 

Shiro noticed that his fingers came away wet and withdrew the steel from his mouth. Keith made a wicked, deliberate show of leaning in and licking the sticky tang from Shiro's fingertips, his tongue curling all around it, dragging long and slow. Feeling Shiro shudder was as great a victory as connecting with his lion, as forming Voltron that first time.

 

Before he knew it, he was laid out on his belly on the ground, the impact great enough to leave him breathless. Didn't matter, there was no breathing til he felt Shiro rip the last of his clothes away and rub him down with that thick drip that warmed on his skin, finally filling up his lungs again with a shaky breath when Shiro thrust knuckle deep inside him.

 

“C'mon,” he growled again, fighting to turn around and watch. He leaned on his elbow so he could pry his cheeks apart for that heavy dick Shiro held in his hand, his lip curling as the stone solid head of his prick stabbed against his hole. Shiro sank in til it burned and lit all of Keith's senses on fire one by one, leaving him bent and seething and beating his fist on the floor and still greedy for more.

 

“We can take it slow,” Shiro told him, and if Keith didn't know Shiro's pure and pretty heart so well, he'd almost think it was a challenge. He took it like one anyway, growling as he pulled himself up off the floor, winding his leg around Shiro to get his heel against his ass and force him deeper still. The hushed scratching of his hair brushing the ground, the soft _pat-pat_ of sweat dripping was all that he could hear, and then the pressure and frustration built to an unbearable crescendo and he broke the silence with a wavering cry.

 

“... amazing, Keith, it's so good, you're so fucking good,” Shiro was saying, hands tightening on his hips. He pressed until Keith snarled and writhed. “My beautiful little creature,” he murmured, half under and slurring his words. “Show me what you can do.”

 

That was all it took. Keith dug his heel in and rocked himself back and took more than he ever had, finding Shiro's cock so hard that it was like spearing himself on his own sword. He must have wanted this so badly, needed it in all those hours when he had no hope of ever having it again, and Keith owed him this as much as he needed it too. All that mattered now was fucking himself on that cock, contorting his body and bending against his aching bones until he could bounce his ass hard and swallow every inch Shiro had to give. He jerked himself off his feet with only his elbows to keep him grounded, pursuing Shiro wherever he moved, desperate to be turned out, wrecked, ruined beyond repair. Shiro was shouting something that Keith could not hear above the wild crash of skin on skin and the pounding of his pulse, but by then he was on top of Shiro, hands planted on his chest, riding him so brutally that his legs were shaking too much to be of any use anymore. His cock hurt, whether from its violent whipping in the air or a built up ache he had no interest in quelling, he didn't know, but the pain soon blurred with the rest of his screaming muscles and died away as background noise.

 

“Keith,” Shiro said through gritted teeth, “you're killing me.”

 

“I know,” Keith told him, crashing down hard and giving Shiro no time to recover. “Let go already.”

 

Again, Keith found himself on the floor, spittle welling at the corner of his mouth, his whole body tired and sinking. He wasn't ready to give up, not now or ever, but he could not move as Shiro took over and bent him harshly, snapping into him so hard that it stung. He did everything he could to make it better, opening his legs so wide his joints screamed, trying to catch his toes on the back of Shiro's legs, anything to make a connection, to embolden theirs. His flesh crunched beneath Shiro's steel fingers, and he sucked on his knuckles to keep from screaming, to keep from gasping and howling from being so deeply impaled.

 

It did not work for long. Soon, everything was so fast that Keith could not catch his breath, his body begging him to dig his claws in and crawl away, his cheeks soaked with tears. This was the best part, where Shiro couldn't help himself anymore, when he made vicious, primal noises and used Keith like he was nothing but a bag of flesh, when he squeezed him way too hard and Keith could feel his dick pulsing inside, his balls tight and digging roughly into his sore and battered ass.

 

That was the reward, hot seed flushing out his insides, burning in his guts. It was permission to finally collapse, humming on the floor, his lips quirked into a smile despite the rush of pain.

 

“Keith…” Shiro said, back to himself, using his flesh to trace the sharp lines of his shoulder blades.

 

“Again,” Keith purred.

 

“No,” Shiro was quick to answer, laughter in his voice.

 

“You don't think I could handle it?” Keith asked, doing the best he could to rise on rubber limbs, swaying like he was punch drunk. Shiro was kind enough to guide him over and lift him to the bed, where they could both collapse.

 

“ _You_ ?” Shiro asked in disbelief. “I don't think _I_ could handle it.”

 

Keith smirked, proud.

 

“You know what I could handle,” Shiro whispered, fingers walking down Keith's chest.

 

“Fucking me again?”

 

“Keith—”

 

“Then I'm not interested,” Keith said flatly, working his way into the crook of Shiro's arm. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

 

Shiro silenced himself with a sigh and the silence lingered for a long while, heavy with indecision that he could not keep from Keith anymore.

 

“Is this how it always was?” he asked, quiet and afraid.

 

“I don't care,” Keith told him. “It's what it is now, and as long as it's you, I don't care.”

 

Shiro's embrace was crushing, but Keith welcomed it. As long as Shiro's arms were around him, he was with him, and that was all that ever mattered.

 

* * *

 

 

“Lance. Hey, Lance.”

 

For what it was worth, Lance wasn't avoiding Shiro, nor was he ignoring him. Shiro appeared out of nowhere as he was toweling off his hair, deafened by the terrycloth rubbing over his ears, and Lance did not get the message until he was spooked by Shiro's reflection in the mirror.

 

“Hey, boss,” Lance said, snatching up his toothbrush. “Look at me, alive before last call.”

 

No reason to mention that it was because his noisy neighbors had kept him up all night. If Shiro spied the bags under his eyes, well, that was his business.

 

“Very nice.” But if he did, he didn't mention it. “Hey, I wanted to talk to you.”

 

“Go nuts,” Lance said, coating his brush and scrubbing down his teeth. He could see Shiro behind him, squinting in thought, his brows knitting in a very open expression of concern.

 

“I heard about what you said,” he began, voice low and mournful. “I want you to know I'm sorry, Lance. I pushed us all way too far.”

 

Lance shot him a look in the mirror and kept brushing.

 

“It's the wild west out here, but if we're gonna make this universe a better place, we have to start with ourselves.”

 

Lance's sawing slowed.

 

“I promise I'll do better. I hope you can respect me again someday.”

 

Lance spat, inhaled through his flaring nostrils, and turned quickly on his heels.

 

“You know what?” he said, his eyes shifting. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that Keith was somewhere nearby, waiting in the wings for Shiro. He always was. Shiro seemed to get it too, following his gaze, a curious hint of pain in his expression. “Don't sweat it. You're not the one I'm worried about anymore.”

 

Shiro didn't stop him from loping away, and sure enough, there was Keith to meet him in the hall, visible, Lance was sure, only because he didn't care who saw him listening in. They traded glances for a moment, but Lance saw nothing in his eyes, no fear, no shame, not even smugness.

 

“Done in there?” Keith finally asked him, and Lance made a rude noise through his nose.

 

“Am I ever.”


End file.
